


Sirens

by LegitimateTrash



Category: GOT7
Genre: Blood, Kinda happy ending?, M/M, Mark needs a hug, its late and mark is thinking too much, trigger warnings for suicidal behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 08:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25467625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegitimateTrash/pseuds/LegitimateTrash
Summary: Mark inches closer to the edge, looking down at his feet as they dangle. He wonders what it would feel like if he just leaned forward another inch.
Relationships: Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	Sirens

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning: suicidal themes, please don’t read if this will impact you.

Blood falls from Mark’s nose in a steady drip, running into his mouth and down his chin. A cold wind whips through his hair, and Mark closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

He blinks them open when a siren wails in the distance, looking down at the city below him. It’s late, but even so the streets are busy; cars, and buses, and people all rushing about. He swings his feet from where he’s perched on the ledge of the building. 

The sirens grow louder and Mark watches as a yellow street light flickers before going out completely. He fumbles in his jean’s pocket for a moment before surfacing with a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Pulling out a stick, he rolls it between his long fingers. Orange flames climb out of the lighter, and Mark moves the stick towards them, the small fire reflecting back in his dark eyes. 

A wisp of smoke rises, and Mark breathes in deeply, allowing himself to indulge for a minute. The smoke dissipates, and Mark sighs, not moving the cigarette to his lips. Instead, he moves his hand slowly to his knee, pressing the cigarette butt into the exposed skin from the rip in his jeans. It makes a small hiss at the contact, flesh meeting fire, and Mark waits for the familiar burn.

Nothing. 

Mark presses his hand down harder, smearing the tip into his skin, and tears of relief prick the back of his eyes when he finally feels the hot sting of the burn. He takes his hand away, a red blister already forming in its place. Mark’s hand hovers in the air, cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers before he pulls it back, letting out a dry laugh. He might be a terrible person, but he’s not going to _litter._

He taps the cigarette butt until the ember’s glow fades, and leaves it beside him on the ledge. Below him, a car races by, the screech of tires reverberating off the metal skyscrapers encasing him. Mark inches closer to the edge, looking down at his feet as they dangle. He wonders what it would feel like if he just leaned forward another inch. Wonders what the wind would feel like on the way down, rushing through his ears and lapping at his skin. 

Would it hurt? 

Mark considers for a second, but comes to the conclusion that he wouldn’t care. If it’s painful, he could go out in a blaze of agony, being reminded of just how human he really is before he leaves. 

If it’s not, Mark wouldn’t mind either. It would be appropriate, to go from feeling nothing to _being_ nothing, all in a peaceful breath. His death, just like everything else he does, would be quiet. 

He sways, so close to the edge that one wrong move will send him over. 

The wind picks up, pushing at Mark’s back, as if to say, _Jump._

Mark finds himself listening, scooting forward and closing his eyes, ready for whatever may come. 

But then, “Hey.”

Mark’s eyes fly open at the sound. He scrambles to find purchase on the unforgiving concrete, pulling himself back just in time. He’d know that voice anywhere. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look at the boy, but he does slide back another inch. 

“I figured I’d find you up here,” Jackson continues, voice getting louder as he comes closer. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Mark can hear the smile in Jackson’s voice, can picture exactly what it looks like, his lips curled up softly, but not showing any teeth. 

“Hey,” Mark breathes out, his voice low and raspy.

Jackson comes to stand next to him, leaning his forearms on the ledge next to Mark. He looks out over the city; the tall glass buildings reflecting blue light, and nods in approval. “Nice view.” He cranes his head to the right, towards Mark, and smirks. “But I like this one better.”

And Mark finally turns to face him, his lips quirking up in an involuntary smile. He knows he probably looks weird, his sharp teeth coated in blood, and his hair a mess, but Jackson only gazes at him fondly. 

An ambulance runs a red light two streets over, and Mark and Jackson both turn towards the swell in noise, momentarily distracted. 

A breeze lifts the hair off Mark’s forehead and Jackson rubs at his bare arms. “It’s cold,” he whines. 

As if to prove his point, a shiver rips through Jackson, and Mark unconsciously moves to take off his sweater and give it to him, before he realizes he’s not wearing one. “Yeah,” he offers instead, acknowledging the fact but not agreeing. It could be boiling hot right now or freezing cold, and Mark wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. 

Jackson glances at the cigarette beside Mark’s thigh. “I thought you quit,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

Mark hums. “I did.”

Jackson rolls his eyes. “You’re weird, you know that right?”

Mark huffs and moves a bit closer to Jackson and a bit further from the edge. “I like weird,” he shrugs, “I’m dating you after all.”

Jackson laughs, loud and high pitched, and for a second it drowns out the sounds of the sirens and Mark can’t think of anything else except how he wants to be able to hear that sound everyday for the rest of his life. 

They stay there, watching the city as it trudges on with life. Mark makes no attempt to move, and neither does Jackson. 

Slowly, Mark starts to come back to himself, and he winces at the uncomfortable wetness on his face. He wipes at the blood with his wrist, smearing red all down his arm, but clearing his nose somewhat, only to have it replaced with fresh blood, leaking into his mouth. 

Jackson frowns. “It’s _still_ bleeding?” He extends his arms up, hoping to reach Mark’s face, but the ledge is tall, and even with Jackson standing and Mark sitting, he’s out of reach. “I’m coming up,” Jackson decides, and promptly starts to heave himself up onto the ledge. 

Mark’s hand clamps down on his shoulder, firm. The wind is still calling, and he doesn’t want it to reach Jackson’s ears. “No. You stay there.”

Jackson raises an eyebrow, looking at the red all over Mark’s face. “Either you come down or I’m coming up.”

Mark looks back over the edge. His feet hang limply, and below him, miles of air. _Down, down, down. It’s not too late,_ the wind whispers, _Just an inch forward, that’s it, that’s-_

“Mark?”

With a sigh, Mark spins around on his butt, bringing his legs up before he jumps down from the ledge, landing gracefully on the gravel rooftop. 

Jackson is in his space in an instant, hugging him tightly. Mark tenses before relaxing, melting into Jackson’s strong arms. Eventually, Jackson pulls back- only a little- and it’s then that Mark sees the worry on his boyfriend’s face that had been so carefully masked only seconds before. 

Jackson cups a hand on Mark’s face, running his thumb over a sharp cheekbone before wiping some blood away from Mark’s lips. And then Jackson’s lips are on his, and they’re warm and Mark can _feel_ them, so he pushes back, harder, digging his nails into Jackson’s shoulder blades. 

They pull apart, breathless, Jackson’s lips painted red with Mark’s blood because his nose is _still_ fucking bleeding. A small noise escapes Mark, and then another, and then he’s _giggling_ \- his whole body shaking. “I’m a mess,” he gasps out.

Jackson’s laughter joins the night; a concoction of sirens, and whistling wind, and broken boys.

They finally calm down, limbs just that fraction looser. Jackson pecks Mark on the lips and then pinches the bridge of Mark’s nose, gently but firmly. “We should get Jinyoung to take a look at this, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Mark feels a stab of guilt. “He’s still here? I didn’t... it’s late.”

Jackson pokes Mark in the stomach. “It’s not all about you, love. Yugyeom ordered pizza so everyone’s still here.”

“Pizza?” Mark can’t help but repeat. 

Jackson snorts. “Don’t worry, I made them promise to save you a piece before I came out here.”

It’s not a particularly intimate phrase, but it cuts through the haze over Mark’s vision. They saved some for him because they knew he was coming back. They _want_ him to come back. 

The wind is still howling, prickling at his arms, but Mark just grins. Because he’s suddenly tired, and hungry, and he wants to cry, and it’s _wonderful._

Because he can _feel._

Jackson leads Mark across the roof- opening the door to the building awkwardly because he still has one hand on Mark’s nose to stem the blood flow- and they climb into the elevator, wrapped up in eachother.

Mark breathes and everything hurts and he holds Jackson tighter. 

“Is it peperoni?” he asks. _I love you._

Jackson smiles. “Of course it’s peperoni.” _I love you too._

**Author's Note:**

> oops I was having feelings at 2am. Let me know what you liked, and if you want me to write more in the future.
> 
> Come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/demontuan)


End file.
